


On Whom His Favor Rests

by Shadow_Of_Castiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Of_Castiel/pseuds/Shadow_Of_Castiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam and Castiel celebrate Christmas, despite the Apocalypse pulling their world apart around their ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Whom His Favor Rests

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ficexchange_mix](http://community.livejournal.com/ficexchange_mix)‘s Christmas Winter fic exchange and for angeltrenchcoat‘s prompt of ~ "It's the middle of the end of the world; think biblical plagues, ash falling from the sky, apocalyptic weather - humans are almost extinct. And there's nothing Sam, Dean and Cas can do about it, so they might as well enjoy what little time they have left with one last Christmas. It's a little pathetic as Christmases go, but they make the most of it because they're all they have left. Dean/Cas, but feel free to set Sam up with someone if you don't want him to feel completely lonesome at the end of the world. Or not, either way." It’s kind of AU, borrowing quite heavily from the universe as represented in the episode 5x04, The End. Title comes from Luke 2:14, (New International Version) "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

Dean stared out of the motel room window, out at the street that would once have housed cars, people, children playing in the streets, even dogs. Now there was barely even any movement left, save for a few sullen teenagers slumped morosely and staring idly at seemingly nothing across the road. They seemed as bereft of hope as Dean almost felt. There seemed to be next to nothing left of the world now. Dean had to admit that the world hadn’t been perfect before, but at least it had been better than the one he was currently watching through cracked glass and had observed slowly winding down over the past few weeks.

The Apocalypse had sped up all of a sudden, or so it seemed to Dean with hindsight. At the time, it had been a gradual build up but now? The end of the world had been all too quick and was currently speeding up like the inexorable train-wreck that it was. He sighed and scrubbed at his face with the open palm of his right hand, trying to scrub the memories away instead of the ravaged world he saw outside. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes squinched shut until he saw painful bursts of light behind his eyelids, flaring in myriad colors.

His hand dropped and he stared bleakly out on a bleak and depressing world. His mind wheeled back to the time when Zachariah had sent him five years into the future, of how he’d met the broken shell of a man he was destined to turn into if he didn’t say yes to Michael, and of Castiel ... poor broken, drunk and drugged up Castiel, who’d been abandoned and left to die by his so called brothers in arms. Dean wondered how much time they had left until he started to change, and Castiel slowly ground down into becoming mortal. He glanced over his shoulder and wondered how long it would be before Sam would say yes to Lucifer, and become that self assured, smirking being, proclaiming humanity as hairless apes not worthy of love and attention from the angels.

He shuddered, tried to tear his mind away from what Sam would become, somehow the worst transformation of the three of them.

“What a sorry bunch we are,” Dean muttered to himself as he turned back to face the outside world again.

He glanced up at the sky and noticed, without any surprise at all, that it had started in with the torrential rain again. He sighed, utterly sick of the persistent and unremitting rain, and the wind, and the clouds of ash that sometimes drifted down from God knew where. He remembered the first time he’d seen that ash, convinced it was snow, until he saw the flames on the horizon, the shifting and billowing clouds and the stench of burning rubber. He’d choked then and he choked now with the memory of it, and he muffled the sound behind one quickly upraised fist, desperate to not wake the sleeping Sam behind him.

Dean, all too used to not getting a full night’s sleep and running on four hours a night at the best of times, worried about Sam. His brother had not been sleeping well, eyes shadowed with the strain of the Apocalypse and of what he knew rested on his shoulders and his sleep had suffered. Dean couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him, sharing that weight with troubles of his own and an archangel breathing down his own neck. He wished he could save his brother from this, yet knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t see a way out of this mess, now they were well on their way to Apocalypse.

When he looked back out at the perpetual rain, he noticed the surly teens had gone, moved on to emote somewhere else, Dean guessed. He wondered how many of them were left now, humans slowly dying out beneath the strain of the weather systems ravaging cities and countryside alike, disease to almost plague like proportions sweeping the well populated areas and decimating the population drastically. He never would have guessed he’d miss humans as much as he did, preferring to be alone, ever moving and never settling down in one place or with anyone longer than a night. All he had was Sam, the Impala, and more recently Castiel.

At the thought of the angel, Dean almost smiled. If not for Castiel, Dean would have gone totally crackpot weeks ago, the hunter knew. Castiel had that quiet silence about him, that seemingly all knowing wise knowledge to him that somehow everything would be alright and turn out peachy in the end. Dean didn’t know where Castiel got his peace from, but Dean found it somehow inspiring, and the angel helped to buoy him, to steady him when no one, not even Sam, could these days.

He rested one hand upon the cracked glass in front of him as ash once again started to mix in with the rain, turning the puddles forming on the ground sludgy and miring the roads with thick gray quagmires. The sight was depressing, as it always was and Dean tried to blot it out with the swathe of his fingers pressed tight against cold glass.

“That won’t help, you know, Dean,” Castiel’s gruff voice spoke softly by his side. “The world will still be there when you drop your hand, broken and discarded as it is.”

“I know, Cas, I know. I tried to wipe it clean once but I was too late,” Dean said, thinking of the one time he’d actually said yes and no one listened.

“I know, Dean. You tried. We all tried and it was all for nothing,” Castiel said, morosely, eyes tracing a car rolling slowly past through the deluge. “There is no help for us now but that which we make for ourselves.”

“Sweet, very poetic,” Dean muttered, with a derisive snort. “Next you’ll be quoting Paradise Lost at me or something.”

Castiel stared at Dean, level gaze intense and almost searing.

“What? I read, on occasion,” Dean said, trying for levity in a mirth free world. “Besides, Milton was free with the newspaper three weeks ago. I was bored. Couldn’t understand half of it and the half I did, I didn’t want to.”

He sighed, and scrubbed his hand over his eyes as though trying to scrub the memories of Paradise Lost from his mind, as if that would really help their current situation.

“We will be fine, Dean,” Castiel tried to reassure him.

Dean didn’t bother trying to contradict the angel. He’d long since gone past railing against Castiel’s quiet assurances that they would survive, knowing that the angel was trying to keep his spirits up and hope alive through any means that he could.

“What would I do without you, Cas?” Dean found himself murmuring without realizing he was about to voice his opinions aloud.

Castiel remained silent, knowing the question was rhetorical one, yet smiling slightly at the warmth those few words offered. Dean was a man of few words, even less so when they were about feelings, especially ones of love. He knew, still, however that Dean loved him, irrevocably, without question, as much as Dean could love another with that oversized heart of his. Dean might not voice his love aloud, yet Castiel knew it was there, and always would be for him.

He reached out and laid one hand on Dean’s shoulder, long fingers relaxed and curling against Dean’s dark blue shirt and Dean smiled. He remained silent, lifting one hand to lay it on Castiel’s gratefully. That one gesture spoke volumes of how much Castiel’s silent support meant to Dean, when not even Sam seemed to have lost faith in him.

“You know its Christmas next week, right?” Dean asked, voice still sounding a little on the depressed side.

“Of course, although it’s a common misconception it was the actual date of Christ’s birth,” Castiel said, predictably. “I know; I was there.”

“You were? What was it like?” Dean asked, in genuine curiosity, suddenly all too prepared to put his current woes aside to hear something of Castiel’s life.

“Messy,” Castiel said. “The midwifery skills were rudimentary at best then, plus it wasn’t easy when Mary was embarrassed by the cows staring.,”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Dean started to laugh, head tilted to the ceiling as mirth took over at last.

“Embarrassed by the cows. You are awesome, Cas,” Dean told him as he pulled the angel into a half hug.

Castiel chuffed out an amused little chuckle, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he stared at Dean.

“Cows,” Dean said again. “I’ll have to remember that one. I do believe you just told your first joke.”

“I try, Dean,” Castiel said, solemnly.

“And I thank you for that,” Dean said, warmly, hand slapping the angel firmly on the shoulder.

“What’s happening? I heard laughter,” came Sam’s sleepy voice behind them, bed shifting beneath him as he sat up.

Dean cast a glance over his shoulder at the tousled form of his brother, who, though still exhausted, looked a little better for the extended sleep than he had previously.

“It’s Cas, lightening the mood with a joke about a cow,” Dean said, still smiling softly over the angel’s comment.

“Since when is a cow funny? I fail to see the joke,” Sam yawned, still a little muddle headed from his sleep.

“Since Mary got performance shy when giving birth,” Dean snorted.

“Mom? Mom was scared of a cow?” Sam asked.

“Hardly. I don’t see either of us as the next Messiah somehow,” Dean snorted.

Castiel remained typically silent, tracking the progress of the conversation with intense concentration and apparent amusement. Dean turned a wink onto Castiel, who stared back with liquid blue eyes stretched wide innocently.

“We were discussing Christmas, Sammy,” Dean partially enlightened his brother, finally.

“Oh,” Sam said, morosely. “Christmas.”

“Yes, Christmas. I thought we should celebrate,” Dean said.

“Celebrate? We don’t have a damn thing to celebrate any more Dean,” Sam shot back angrily. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the world’s broken. It’s in pieces and you want to celebrate?”

“It might be our last chance, Sam,” Castiel said, deep voice rising in support of Dean. “Let Dean celebrate if he wishes. Don’t deprive him of that.”

There was the unspoken - “like you have everything else” - in Castiel’s tone, as though the angel disapproved of the younger Winchester somehow and Dean could hardly blame him. Brother or no, Sam had let him down one too many times lately and Dean sometimes didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. Sam scrubbed his hand through his hair before he heaved a sigh, shoulders rising and falling in a hefty sigh.

“Fine. Celebrate Christmas, if that’s what you want. But if you think I’m helping - “ his voice trailed off, as he gazed out off the window, eyes distant and slightly unfocussed.

“What?” Dean asked, glancing quickly out of the cracked glass himself and seeing nothing but rain and a broken world.

“Nothing. I just saw a frog fall past the window,” he said.

“A frog? You sure it wasn’t a toad?” Dean asked, with a snort of derision, thinking of one of the seven plagues of Egypt.

“Frog, toad, who cares? It was travelling too fast to get a proper look,” Sam said, staring at Dean with a weary look.

Dean sighed and shook his head at Sam, before transferring his gaze to Castiel.

“Fancy a ride out someplace, Cas? We could get turkey,” Dean asked, hopefully, deciding it was futile to ask Sam when the younger Winchester seemed intent to brood.

“Yes, Dean, I would like that,” Castiel said, formally, accepting the invitation as though it really was of consequence.

The angel knew that it was of import, at least to Dean. The hunter seemed to need to celebrate, to feel normal for one last time before the world went to Hell in a handbasket - quite literally - and he smiled supportively at Dean. The hunter nodded gratefully, before casting a cursory glance over his shoulder at his brother.

“You coming? Or are you gonna stay there and braid your hair with rainbow ribbons?” Dean asked, with a snort.

“Stay behind,” Sam muttered, with a yawn. “Might sleep some more.”

“And dream of rainbow ribbons,” Dean murmured, next as he plucked his coat from the back of a nearby chair.

Castiel, already in his coat customarily draped around his slender frame, waited until the elder Winchester had sorted himself out and heading for the door, jangling keys from work roughened fingers. The angel waited while Dean started the car, hands folded primly into his lap.

Dean drove to the nearby grocery store, avoiding the toads that were indeed falling from the sky along with the perpetual rain and the ash, before parking in front of the store. Unsurprisingly, there was no one else around, yet the electricity still flickered intermittently in the store itself. Dean wondered aloud, more to himself than to Castiel, how long the electricity would last before it ceased to exist along with humanity.

Castiel astutely kept silent, plucking a can of peaches and a jar of cranberry sauce from nearby shelves. He trailed after Dean as the hunter made a haphazard stab at gathering the closest approximation to a Christmas meal as he could from dwindling supplies on the grocery store shelves. He stuck mainly to packaged foods, or canned goods, distrusting the majority of the fresh goods that had mostly spoiled bar a few long abandoned chickens hidden under sheets of ice in the freezer. He took one of them, deciding that a chicken was better than a non-existent turkey any day before leaving the store. There was no clerk to pay, and no money to pay him with, so Dean decided the bill was a moot point these days.

He climbed back into the Impala, piling his goods onto the back seat haphazardly as Castiel climbed in beside him. The angel placed his own goods on top of Dean’s, hair dripping large droplets down upon the leather of the back seat and their groceries. His soft hair hung in wet strands against his forehead, yet he showed no signs of discomfort from being wet. Dean smiled at him lopsidedly, before reaching out to take his hand. He rubbed the back of Castiel’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb, exhaling loudly through his nose but otherwise remaining silent. Castiel left him to his thoughts, knowing that when Dean wanted to say something, he would say it and never before.

Unsurprisingly, however, Dean said nothing at all, taking his hand back reluctantly, before angling his car out onto soaked streets and heading back slowly through the perpetual rain and occasional smattering of toads and ash falling from the sky. He parked outside the motel, before climbing out, head bowed beneath the weight of the rain falling down to plaster his hair flatter against his head. Castiel joined him, silently carrying some of their goods in cocked arms, head turning up to face the sky almost blissfully.

Dean walked through the wooden barrier of the motel room door, dumping his groceries all over the dozing Sam with an ominous chuckle over disturbing his brother’s sleep. Sam cursed him blearily and sat up, large hands pawing through various packages and staring at the printed words, determining their contents. Castiel watched him, eyes intent as though waiting for Sam’s approval over their choices.

Sam looked up at him and caught him staring, before he smiled wanly.

“That’s fine, dude. We’ll have the dinner of champions,” he said, trying to inject a slice of cheer into his tone.

It almost worked, yet Castiel’s face lit up with pride anyway. Dean watched them, shaking his head with amusement at the exchange, before he gave Castiel a quick hug and a small kiss upon one cheek. Castiel turned to him quickly, pressed his mouth against Dean’s and captured his lips in a much deeper kiss. Dean didn’t protest nor pull away; instead he returned the skis, ever mindful of his brother watching close by.

Sam cleared his throat quietly, pushing one hand through his hair before he looked away meaningfully. If he couldn’t give them the physical space they needed, then he could afford them their privacy by not watching, or so he reasoned. He could still hear them though, slight murmurs of aroused approval and the soft plush sounds of lips meeting and parting. He stood and started to pack away the food into the motel room’s kitchenette’s cupboards and fridge, busying himself purposefully until the lovers had finished.

He turned and said - “Perhaps I should be elsewhere for Christmas, guys.”

“No, Sam, you don’t have to go,” Dean said, immediately. “Or at least stay with us for the meal tomorrow. You can get yourself a separate motel room afterwards though. I kinda ... want to be alone for the night with Cas.”

“Sure, that’ll be fine,” Sam said, with a smile, glad for at least some company on Christmas day.

“Just come knocking in the morning, wake us up. I think we’d need to move on,” Dean said. “God knows where, but I can’t stay in this town another week.”

“Neither can I,” Castiel agreed, morosely. “This town has long since died.”

They fell silent at his last proclamation, not speaking thoughts of suspecting that most of the world had died aloud. Dean eventually clear his throat to break the silence, before clapping his hands together to drum up a small piece of morality.

“Hey, what about breaking open the pie?” he said, with a smile.

Sam surprisingly smiled and nodded, retrieving the pie from the cupboard and starting to carve it into pieces. Dean filched the first, and largest, piece and when offered, Castiel paused and took the piece slowly, slender hand snaking trough the air to take it from Sam’s large hand. Sam stared at him in surprise, never knowing Castiel to willingly take food for himself, while Dean looked on proudly and nodded. Castiel glanced to Dean, keeping his gaze trained upon him while he slid the end of the pie between parted plump lips. They ate in silence, before Dean proclaimed it the end of the day and decided to turn in.

Sam soon followed suit, descending into sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Castiel snuggled close to Dean, staying awake long after Dean had fallen asleep against him, to watch over them all.

~~~

Christmas Day dawned the same as it ever did, rain lashing at the windows and wind buffeting at the walls. Dean couldn’t help but think of monsters raging outside the building, trying to tear down the bricks with bare hands and teeth. He shuddered and tried to move his thoughts away from Lucifer lurking outside, waiting for his chance to pounce on Sam.

He rallied the troops of Sam and Castiel around the small gas powered stove that day, surprised that the appliance still even worked., Even so, he decided not to tempt fate and used the gas sparingly, cooking the chicken and potatoes before switching the whole thing off. Even Castiel ate with them, nodding in approval at the way Dean had basted and stuffed the poultry and smiling at the fluffy roasted potatoes, crispy on the outside.

Dean raised his bottle of beer and waited for both Sam and Castiel to join him in his toast.

“We may not have much this Christmas, but it’ll do. It’s more than what most others have,” he said, mentally adding - those who are left at any rate.

Sam smiled sadly at the unspoken inference, while Castiel sipped quietly at his beer and pushed another bite of potato between his lips. He maintained silence throughout the rest of the meal, only looking up when Dean reached out to take his hand, thumb stroking over the angel’s prominent knuckles.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked him, quietly.

“Yes, Dean, I am coping. How are you?” Castiel replied, politely.

“The same. Coping,” Dean said, with a smile. “Still a good Christmas, though, huh? At least we’re all here together.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, with a smile of his own.

He raised his bottle again, glass chinking against first Dean’s, then Castiel’s, before they all fell silent again. They didn’t speak until their plates had all but been licked clean and they had started to move, to clear their used plates and cutlery away. Dean turned on the radio and started humming along with the music, adding a little more cheer to proceedings. Once the plates were washed and placed back in the small kitchenette’s cupboards, they played card games to while away the remaining hours of Christmas Day, snacking on peanuts and mince pies.

By the end of the evening, they’d all but forgotten the Apocalypse in full swing right outside their door, laughter and bright chatter brightening the room inside. The place was lit with candles and a small, portable gas stove roaring to add a bit of heat in the corner. Castiel bathed in the heat thrown from the portable fire, eyes drifting closed as he spread one wing in front of it to gain more warmth. Dean watched him with a smile, marvelling at the expanse of still shadowy wing filling up Castiel’s side of the room. He moved to Castiel’s side, bodies aligning as he fitted himself beneath the angel’s wing, smiling at the sheltered feel he was given from its embrace.

Sam watched the couple with a grin, surprised at the easy way that they sat together, as though they’d done the position before; Dean pressed close to Castiel’s side and Castiel wrapping one wing protectively around Dean’s body. The elder Winchester surprised Sam by even laying his head against Castiel’s shoulder, eyes drifting closed as though in sleep. Sam grin turned into a smile, before he slowly stood, joints protesting against the movement after spending so much time sitting still. Dean and Castiel turned their gazes up to him and he shrugged happily.

“I’d best be going, leave you to it,” he said, eyes shining in the light. “I’ll only be next door. Shout if you need anything.”

“You sure you’ll be alright in there?” Dean asked, pointedly refraining from adding “alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I have the radio and the TV for a while, a few books still left unread. You two have fun in here, okay?” Sam asked, as he set his beer bottle aside and looked towards the door.

“You bet,” Dean said, watching as Sam finally made a move and headed towards the door and outside.

Sam raised his hand in a goodnight wave, before leaving, shutting the worst of the weather out and the remnants of heat within. Dean and Castiel sat in silence for a few moments, adjusting to the fact that it was only the two of them for the first time in several days. Castiel stared at Dean intently, plump lips parted as his tongue swept out over his full lower lip. Dean smiled at him, before reaching up to cup one hand against Castiel’s warm cheek. He leant in and claimed a kiss from Castiel’s warm, willing mouth, lips moving one against the other as Castiel tightened his wing around Dean’s body. His other wing arched round, enveloping them both in a warm and fuzzy feathered embrace, making Dean shudder and moan quietly in arousal. Castiel knew that Dean loved his wings, loved the feel of them against his naked skin. He eased one wingtip teasingly beneath Dean’s t shirt, working the feathers further up against Dean’s bare torso.

“Cas,” Dean murmured, eyes drifting closed as he leant against the feathered wall of the angel’s wing supporting him.

He repeated Castiel’s name again, breathlessly this time, lips working soundlessly as Castiel unzipped the hunter’s jeans slowly, purposefully with deft fingers. The angel slid his wingtip down over Dean’s torso, dragging the rucked up t shirt down and covering the expanse of the hunter's well muscled body again. He dipped his wingtip inside Dean’s boxers, stroking feathers against his lover’s ever hardening cock. Dean’s hips bucked up, buffeting against Castiel’s wing, hands clutching at soft feathers surrounding him in warmth and in love.

“Please,” Dean whined, before falling into breathless silence again.

Castiel’s lips found Dean’s again as he continued stroking Dean’s cock with his wing, feathers gentle against taut flesh. He slipped his tongue inside Dean’s mouth when the hunter opened it to draw breath and he purred when Dean suckled upon his tongue eagerly. The hunter reached up and dragged Castiel’s tie loose, ripping it free and tossing it aside to bounce back from Castiel’s wing. Neither cared nor took any notice; instead their hands moved over each other’s bodies, slowly stripping each other until they both were naked.

Castiel eased Dean against the floor and covered him with his body, wings forming an impenetrably warm shield around them both. Dean reached up and alternately stroked and tugged against his lover’s feathers, entranced by the living moving shadows above him.

“You are so beautiful,” Dean breathed, hips arching as Castiel breached him with wet fingers.

Dean hadn’t seen Castiel slick up his fingers with lube, too entranced and enraptured with the angel’s wings above him to notice much else. He whined as Castiel pumped his hand purposefully between his ass cheeks, loosening him and stretching his hole wide open. Castiel watched as Dean’s face flushed in heated arousal, cheeks stained dark pink and his lips wet with aroused moisture. He added another finger, and then a third, and made Dean cry out loudly at the full feelings stretching him wide.

Castiel felt his cock hard and aching between his legs, pre-cum pooling at his slit as Dean continued manipulating his wings pleasurably. Dean knew that Castiel loved his wings being touched, that it was an intimate gesture between angels. Castiel’s head bowed, bringing his lips closer to Dean’s and their mouths brushed in the softest of kisses.

He pulled away, eased his hand away from Dean’s stretched hole, before he slicked his cock with lube and he positioned himself at Dean’s entrance eagerly. Dean waited, breath held and his legs spread wide to accommodate his lover’s body, hole exposed invitingly. Castiel eased his hand between their bodies and guided his cock deep inside Dean, pushing his way in and penetrating his lover, until he was fully sheathed inside him. Dean bucked upwards, hands flailing and pawing at Castiel’s wings, moaning at the full feeling of Castiel’s cock thick and hot inside him.

Castiel started thrusting into him, hips working solidly against hips. Feathers moved and shifted with every thrust and Dean grabbed a handful, holding on as his world flew apart beneath Castiel’s solid thrusts. He met his lover, thrust for thrust, moaning at the feel of Castiel deep inside him and he screamed when Castiel clamped his hand purposefully upon the handprint scar burned into Dean’s shoulder.

A burst of bright white light flooded through Dean, blanking his eyes at the pleasure roiling through him as the connection between them opened. He could feel Castiel, feel his essence pushed deep inside him, deeper even than the feel of his cock moving inside him. He could feel the depth of Castiel’s love and trust in him, the pleasure that knew no bounds in Castiel’s expansive consciousness and Dean wallowed in it. He tried to push some of his own love and mutual trust into Castiel’s contained form and felt the angel soak it up, accept it, bathe in the warmth of Dean Winchester.

Castiel explored Dean’s mind and soul, loving every part of the broken hunter beneath him, so familiar from when he’d lovingly recreated his form fresh from being pulled from the pit. He was still broken though slightly repaired beneath Castiel’s constant love and presence, as though love alone had healed Dean slightly. Castiel coiled through the hunter, pushed his essence and his Grace through every inch of him, wallowing in the bond they shared.

He felt Dean ease into him, his shining, yet fractured soul exploring every inch of his Grace and he allowed him in. He found pleasure in Dean’s love and tickling warmth against his Grace and he came, spurting his seed deep inside Dean’s ass, bodies shaking in time as their souls joined, bodies shuddering in earthly orgasm. He felt the hot wet splash of Dean’s semen against his abdomen, dick pulsing against him as Dean came, and he felt rather than heard Dean screaming his name.

He answered, wailing Dean’s name loud enough to shatter the windows and burst the lightbulbs above them, letting the wind and the rain come gusting in. He shielded Dean from the worst of the weather from his wings, sheltering from the storm as Sam rushed in. The younger Winchester tried to ignore the naked state of the lovers and the way that Castiel’s dick was still sheathed tight inside Dean’s ass.

“We’re fine, Sammy,” Dean croaked, lolling back wearily against the floor. “We’re good, so, so good.”

Castiel smiled sheepishly at Sam, as the younger hunter stared down at them, hands on hips.

“I think you need another room,” Sam said, to cover the awkward silence.

“Yeah, we do,” Dean said, a sated grin curving his mouth as he reached up to stroke Castiel’s soaked wing.

Sam tried to ignore the naked Castiel in front of him, when the angel stood, far more comfortable than Sam would have been in the same situation. The angel stooped and picked Dean bodily from the floor, covering his lover’s naked form with one wing draped across him. Dean settled against Castiel, already starting to fall into sated sleep. Sam shuffled in front of them, kicking the door down to a deserted room nearby, so that the lovers could spend the night in there. He closed the door behind them as best he could, before returning to his own room.

He had to smile to himself at the over enthusiastic lovers, all too caught up in themselves to even be aware of what they were doing or how many windows they broke. He listened out for the rest of the night, ready to rush in and help them find another room if they needed him to. Despite the aroused cries he heard periodically every time they made love, he heard no more shattering sounds of glass breaking the night. Instead he fell asleep to the sounds of the storm outside, ever ready to help if he was needed.

~fini~


End file.
